


weekend at kame’s

by thunderylee



Category: KAT-TUN (Band), Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Begging, Canon Universe, Class Fantasies, Danger, Decadence, Dressup, Drugs, Foursome, Gender Play, Military Roleplay, Multi, Object Penetration, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scarification, Sensation Play, Silk Velvet Feathers Furs, Tentacles, Threesome, Vanilla Kink, Voyeurism, Writing on the Body, biting/bruises, guns/blades, mechanical/technological, penance/punishment, subspace/headspace, torture/interrogation, virginity/celibacy, wrist/ankle restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Just because they’ve debuted doesn’t mean they stop serving her.





	weekend at kame’s

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written with ayamehadouken for kink bingo (blackout: see tags).

Taguchi admires the sight before his eyes as he gives one final sweep of eyeshadow across soft, almond-shaped eyes.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

“You really think so?” a breathy voice answers him, sending a shiver up Taguchi’s spine. “Can I still pull this off?”

“You can do anything,” Taguchi says, pushing a lock of curled hair behind an ear with a single diamond stud in the lobe. Keeping it simple. “Madame Kazumi.”

Kame smiles gently, creating little creases in the corners of hi— _her_ eyes despite her young age. “But will they come?”

“Oh, they will come,” Taguchi assures her, a smirk forming on his face. “In both meanings of the word.”

That seems to please Kame, who stands from the vanity chair and glides across the master bedroom to the double doors leading to the balcony. “It’s so quiet here.”

The property was an inheritance from some great-grandparent of Kame’s, and they haven’t even been able to come visit in the past couple years, but Kame keeps it up well enough. A spacious mansion with many rooms and acres of land, not a neighbor for miles, gated private property in the rural part of Tokyo, far away from Johnny’s and stages and fangirls.

Yet they still perform. Madame Kazumi is only the beginning, the headmistress of this establishment that can only be classified as a brothel, except no money changes hands. With themed rooms and unlimited access to costumes and props, the five members of KAT-TUN can live out their most elaborate fantasies, whether alone, with each other, and with any guests they may invite.

And up until a couple years ago, their guests were usually the same group of men who supported them in their professional lives too. Then they stopped working together, and it’s been exceptionally lonely since.

“It will be loud enough soon,” Taguchi promises. “I’ll make sure of it.”

*

“Why were you trespassing on our property?” Nakamaru demands, shining a light into Nikaido’s scared eyes. “I have ways of making you talk, you know.”

Nikaido knows quite well, Taguchi thinks as the youngest suppresses a shiver. He hasn’t gotten much better at acting, but that just makes Taguchi’s job as RACK security easier.

“I told you,” Nikaido growls, “I just got lost.”

Nakamaru says nothing, just pulls his gun from his army fatigues and casually cocks it. His eyes glaze over when Nikaido jumps at the sound and bites down a gasp. Taguchi’s still surprised that this one is the most daring of the group, insisting on real bullets when even Nakamaru had been apprehensive about it.

It’s Taguchi who jumps when Nakamaru pistol-whips Nikaido in the face so hard that he would have probably fallen right out of his chair had he not been duct-taped to it. Nakamaru grabs him by the hair and points the barrel of the gun right to his temple. “If I were you, I’d start telling the truth.”

“You won’t kill me,” Nikaido hisses. “You need information from me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nakamaru says. His voice is almost startlingly low, and Nikaido visibly trembles at it. Nakamaru drags the gun from Nikaido’s temple to his mouth, dragging the barrel across his lips before pressing it forward. It sends a sick thrill through Taguchi, and he adjusts himself through his fatigues. The movement draws Nakamaru’s attention, and he holsters his gun as he barks out orders. “Maybe you can get something useful out of this scum.”

Usually Taguchi only watches, but his general is very compelling, especially when he’s angry. Taguchi strides across the room, and he can tell Nikaido is trying his best to keep quiet. He lets out a little whimper at Taguchi’s grin, though, so he probably won’t last very long. “I’m telling you, this would be much easier for you if you told us what you were really doing here.”

“I already told you!” Nikaido insists. He’s trying his damnedest to struggle out of his bonds, but it’s useless.

“You know you aren’t going anywhere until you give us answers.” Nakamaru sounds bored, but he’s got the most cunning smirk across his face. He stands next to Taguchi, barely glancing at him as he leans over Nikaido again.

“I got lost, honestly!” Nakamaru pulls out his gun once again, fingers tracing over the trigger guard. “Please!” Nikaido’s practically yelling, now.

“A likely story.”

“Honestly!” Nikaido is long past any reasonable indoor volume, though Taguchi knows the cameras hidden in the corners won’t pick up any sound. It’s almost a shame; maybe he should suggest to the Madame that they add the capability to this room’s equipment.

“You know, I might just let you go.” Nakamaru smiles down patronizingly at Nikaido. “Maybe if you can prove your sincerity.”

“Anything, please, just don’t hurt me!”

“Well, I can’t make too many promises. Taguchi, let him loose,” Nakamaru murmurs. “On your knees, where you should be.”

Taguchi reaches for the knife in his pocket, flicking it open dangerously close to Nikaido’s cheek. It takes a few minutes to saw through the tape at Nikaido’s wrists and ankles, but once he’s freed, he drops to his knees in front of Nakamaru without a word.

Nakamaru stands in front of him and lowers the zipper of his pants, leaving his belt fastened for holster purposes. It’s just enough to pull out his cock and Nikaido starts to lean in for it, mouth open and a little too willing, but Nakamaru pulls him back by the hair.

Nikaido’s face is almost angelic as he blinks up at him, cringing from the sting to his scalp. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re about to,” Nakamaru tells him, then shoves his head down. His cock plunges neatly into Nikaido’s mouth and Nakamaru throws his head back, rolling his hips a little into the suction. Nikaido brings his hands up to Nakamaru’s hips and Nakamaru lets him, guiding him by the hair as he takes Nakamaru in and out of his mouth.

It’s a nice sight, putting Nikaido’s big mouth to good use like this, and Taguchi finds himself a little jealous. He lights a cigarette, inhaling quietly, though Nakamaru glances over when he catches a whiff of the smoke. He smirks a little and Taguchi blows his drag right in Nakamaru’s direction. A promise.

“Mm, good,” Nakamaru groans, his fingers loosening on Nikaido’s hair enough to stroke it. It’s short, dark, and wild, complementing the small amount of eyeliner Madame Kazumi had required they all wear. “I want you to get yourself off while you do this.”

Nikaido hesitates a little as he reaches for his belt, eyes cutting over to Taguchi, who just lifts his eyebrows promisingly as he exhales another cloud of smoke. Slowly he unfastens his pants, mouth still going strong as he reaches inside and pulls out his own cock, already hard.

“You like sucking dick, boy?” Nakamaru asks, and Nikaido shakes his head the best he can with his mouth full. “I think you do. Show me how much you like it.”

A tear falls from Nikaido’s eye and Taguchi’s arousal soars; he loves it when they cry. Nikaido’s hand is shaky around him and his embarrassment is almost real, touching himself like this under orders, which grow stronger as Nakamaru draws his gun again.

“I said _suck it_ ,” Nakamaru growls, and Nikaido moves back and forth on his own, no longer relying on Nakamaru to move his head. He jerks himself slowly and gasps around Nakamaru’s cock, making the other hum in contentment. “There you go. Good boy.”

“I bet he can go faster,” Taguchi comments, ashing his cigarette before stepping closer and kneeling down next to Nikaido. He seizes the shoulder Nikaido’s not using, lit cigarette pointing to the inside of his upper arm.

Now Nikaido’s screeching, barely muffled by Nakamaru’s cock, and Taguchi has to toss a leg around him to keep him from struggling right out. “Should have left you tied up, brat.”

Nikaido whimpers as he moves faster, both his mouth and his hand, but Taguchi doesn’t let up with his bright red marker.

It smells a little bit like burnt flesh, and the tears are flowing freely down Nikaido’s cheeks. Taguchi tires of holding his cigarette in place, and he lets up, letting it hang from the corner of his mouth. Nikaido moans with relief, and Nakamaru fists his hands tighter in his hair; he holds Nikaido in place as he finishes still buried in his mouth.

“Swallow it all,” Nakamaru growls. He stays where he is until Nikaido’s throat stops working so frantically, and then Nakamaru abruptly lets go of him. If it wasn’t for Taguchi’s hold on him, Nikaido would fall forward; instead, he leans them back so that Nikaido is on display for Nakamaru, and Madame Kazumi, as he continues to stroke himself. “It would be in your best interests to finish.”

Nakamaru tucks himself away and straightens his trousers, and the scowl on his face is delightful. Taguchi will save that image for later, and apparently it does it for Nikaido as he stiffens and cries out. He catches most of it in his hands, but some still dribbles onto the floor, and Nakamaru’s voice is rough. “Lick it up.”

It’s hard to see the way Nikaido flushes a deep red from Taguchi’s angle, but he lets go of him so he can obey. First, Nikaido shakily raises his hands to his mouth, his eyes still watery and trained on Nakamaru. Once they’re clean, Nikaido leans forward, his ass rubbing against Taguchi in all of the right ways as he laps at the mess he’s made.

When Nikaido finishes and sits back up, Nakamaru’s expression shifts. Taguchi stubs out his cigarette on the sole of his boot and then pulls Nikaido to lean against his lap. Nakamaru crouches in front of them, eyes kind as he slowly reaches out to wipe the wetness from Nikaido’s face. “All right?” he says, and Nikaido nods. He’s quiet, for once, and Taguchi pulls his arm out so he can inspect the mark he’d left.

It’s a bright, angry red, but it shouldn’t last long. Taguchi makes a note to properly attend to it once they’ve cleaned up; he’ll take care of his own erection later. His vacation’s only just begun, after all.

*

Miyata has always been the one that reminded Taguchi the most of himself, and it was for that reason that Miyata scares the fuck out of him.

“It’s a tentacle monster,” Miyata says calmly, pushing a button on his remote control. The robot with eight ‘arms’ whirs to life next to him.

Taguchi blinks. “Genius.”

“Want to see a demonstration?” Miyata asks, and Taguchi nods. “Tama-chan, come here.”

Even being impossibly taller than everyone, Tamamori bounds right up to Miyata and presses against him like an attention-starved dog, leaning his head back when Miyata lifts his fingers to stroke his head.

“Wanna show senpai how Tako-chan works?” Miyata asks quietly, pressing the words into Tamamori’s throat, and Tamamori nods. “On your hands and knees, precious.”

Tamamori instantly drops to the floor, eyes glazed and unseeing as he stares right through Taguchi. It’s a little creepy seeing him like this, like Tamamori’s been possessed by something whose only focus is serving Miyata, but he seems to like it.

“Relax,” Miyata whispers into his ear, and Tamamori is so far gone that he barely jumps when the long, spirally arms of the machine start touching him and slipping under his clothes. Taguchi’s eyes widen when one disappears down the back of Tamamori’s sweats and Tamamori lets out a strangled moan. “Don’t worry, senpai, that tentacle has a tube for lubrication.”

That’s the least of Taguchi’s worries, but he can’t help but be entranced by the sight of Tamamori being held captive like this. Logically he wants to know how it works, because the remote control doesn’t look that extensive and the _tentacles_ are making direct paths.

“It’s programmed to touch him where he wants,” Miyata tells him, and Taguchi’s no longer certain the younger man can’t read minds. “It was his idea, you know. I created it for him.”

Tamamori’s next moan is muffled, a metal tentacle shoved into his mouth while two more suction his nipples and a third curls tightly around his cock. His shirt has been pushed up to his shoulders and his pants down to his thighs, his body rocking back and forth uncontrollably at the constant stimulation.

“Hey, sorry I’m la—”

Taguchi can’t even turn around to greet Koki, he’s so fixated on Tamamori being more or less fucked by a tentacle machine, and it seems Koki is of a similar opinion, though his “amazing!” is much more impressed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Taguchi catches sight of Koki absently adjusting himself and sucking in a quick breath through his teeth. That grabs Taguchi’s attention, though his eyes are still mostly fixated on Tamamori as he asks, “Problem, Koki?”

Koki sounds shifty as he answers. “No.”

Taguchi knows that really he means yes, and he tears his attention from the live action tentacle porn to look Koki in the eyes. “Let me see; you’ve been awfully scarce over the past few weeks.” That’s the only warning Koki has before Taguchi makes short work of his belt and the zipper of his jeans, and he moans a little at the way Taguchi pulls them down. He’s a little more careful when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Koki’s boxers, and Taguchi’s pleasantly surprised to see a beaded ring through the head of his cock. He can’t resist when he says, “Ah, do you have Prince Albert in a can?”

He expects it when Koki socks him in the arm, but that’s fine with Taguchi. “Is this why you’ve avoided playing with us lately, Koki?”

“Yeah, had to let it heal. It’s been a bitch not being able to get off, man.” Koki looks pained as he says it, and Taguchi can imagine, somewhat. He’s always enjoyed a little bit of denial, himself.

“But you’re able to now, right? Just think, Koki, this is sort of like being a virgin again.” Miyata’s ears perk up at that, and he glances over at them, eyes lighting up as he spots Koki’s newest jewelry. Tamamori is caught up in his own world still, mindlessly arching his back and pushing against the tentacle inside him.

Taguchi continues speaking, slowly palming Koki and thumbing the ring. “You should tell me all about it, Koki.”

“Let me sit down, Junno; it’s hard to concentrate when you keep doing that,” Koki gasps. Taguchi relents and guides Koki to perch in his lap in one of the plush armchairs in the room. “Had the urge, you know, and no one has to know about this, so I went to my usual place.”

Taguchi fingers the underside of the piercing; the way Koki squirms against him is nice. “Go on, tell us more. Did it hurt?” He punctuates the question with slightly more pressure.

“ _Yes_ ,” Koki groans. “There was a metal tube in my dick; they pierced it from the outside.”

“Felt good, didn’t it? I like the way it looks; how do you want to break it in?”

Koki looks shyly to the floor. “I’d like to put it inside someone.”

“Well, that’s not going to be me,” Taguchi says, chuckling a little. “Maybe if you ask nicely, Miyata-kun will let you have Tama-chan.”

Miyata, who has been watching them this whole time while kneeling next to the bound, denied, and still-bucking Tamamori, looks to Koki with devious eyes. “That’s a nice piercing you have there, senpai.”

“Thanks,” Koki replies, squirming as Taguchi pulls back his foreskin so everyone can see it better. “Miyata-kun, will you really let me have him?”

Miyata makes a humming noise, then clicks a button on the remote. The tentacle machine slows to a stop, all limbs retracting for a second, and Taguchi’s eyes widen as they return perfectly clean and shiny.

“Self-cleaning model,” Miyata explains. “Hey, Tama-chan, look up.”

Tamamori’s head rises, and Koki looks just as awed over the youngest’s complete lack of recognition for anything Miyata doesn’t specifically direct him to. “Ooh, shiny.”

“You like it?” Miyata asks, and Tamamori nods. “Do you want it?”

Slowly Tamamori sucks his lips into his mouth, then rubs his head against Miyata’s shoulder just like a cat.

“I bet it feels good,” Miyata goes on, using this gentle, soothing voice that is more terrifying than if he was openly being mean. “If you want it, I’ll let you have it.”

“I want it,” Tamamori breathes, and Koki bristles.

Then Miyata grabs Tamamori by the collar and kisses him deeply, enough to have Tamamori wavering in his stance on all fours, making his ownership clear before turning him over to someone else. He stands up, dusts off his knees, and walks up to Koki. “He’s already ready. Just fuck him, nothing else. Got it? And don’t come inside him—he hates that.”

Koki nods and scrambles to stand behind Tamamori, following orders as stated and pushing right inside him, gripping his hips for balance. Taguchi watches intently, arousal spreading through him like contained fire as Koki’s face falls slack and his faint noises pierce the air, the silence much more noticeable now that the machine has been turned off.

He jumps when he feels Miyata’s hands on him, though they’re not nearly as possessive as they were on Tamamori. “Senpai likes to watch, too?”

Taguchi nods. “I’m also supervising.”

Miyata’s laugh is deep and borderline psychotic. “They’re so hot together, aren’t they? Hey, do you want to try the machine?”

Now Taguchi’s laughing. “I don’t bottom for humans, let alone robots.”

“Not for _you_!” Miyata asks, and Taguchi perks up a little. “You can use it on me. I’ll show you how to use the controls.”

Taguchi nods, and Miyata eagerly hands over the remote. It’s very shiny, all retro-future chrome; there are simple switches, labelled neatly. “The top right one turns it on,” Miyata says as he pulls his shirt over his head. His jeans and underwear follow shortly, and Taguchi’s quick to flick the specified switch. The machine whirs to life again, and Taguchi flips the rest of the switches in short order as Miyata kneels on the floor in front of him.

Two of the tentacles wrap around Miyata’s thighs, holding them apart. Another pair goes for his wrists as he helpfully holds them behind his back. Taguchi makes adjustments to his trousers, and the remote’s settings, when one of the tentacles trails its way to Miyata’s lips. He would rather have instruction from the creator, as well as any of said creator’s noises.

Behind Miyata, Koki is still fucking Tamamori; Tamamori is still just as seemingly unaware of his surroundings as when he’d first been. He seems to be fine, and so does Koki, so Taguchi returns his full attention to Miyata and his machine.

“The bottom left switch controls the lubricated tentacle, and the dial beneath it controls how much lube.” Miyata looks positively wicked as he says, “Don’t worry, Taguchi-senpai. I’m okay with it being a little rough.”

Taguchi fiddles with the controls, an incredible surge of power washing over him as the machine starts swirling its way inside Miyata. A deep groan gets Tamamori’s attention, the youngest glancing over to Miyata while he still bounces from Koki’s thrusts.

“Tama-chan…” Miyata says, gasping a little between words. “Do you like watching me like this?”

Tamamori nods, a little whine slipping out as Koki pounds into him particularly roughly. “Miyacchi…”

“Does senpai’s piercing feel good?” Miyata asks, and Tamamori nods. “Do you think he can make you come like that?”

He’s answered by Koki, who growls as he grips Tamamori’s hips even harder and angles them a bit more. That has Tamamori crying out, fighting to keep his eyes open and locked on Miyata as his cock just swings back and forth beneath him, fully hard and leaking.

“Is he getting tighter, Koki?” Taguchi asks, his voice lower than usual as he stands up straighter, enjoying the friction of his pants.

Koki nods. “So tight.”

“Does it feel better with the piercing?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

“Tama-chan,” Miyata says, his voice growing insistent as a tentacle coils around his dick and starts to pump him. “Show senpai that you can come untouched. _Now_.”

Tamamori lets out a shrill moan, his body jerking as his release splatters multiple places on the floor. Miyata’s more of the same, except he gets it mostly on himself since he’s sitting up. Koki’s face turns red as he thrusts a few more times, then pulls out and comes on Tamamori’s lower back.

“Mm, Tama-chan is pretty all decorated like that,” Miyata comments, and Tamamori squirms as he curls up in a ball. “As soon as senpai lets me go, I’ll come over there, okay?”

Taguchi blinks as he realizes he still has the controls in his hand. Quickly he switches the off button and all of the tentacles retract, cleaning themselves inside the machine before sticking back out, and Miyata can barely move as he crawls across the floor to get to Tamamori, where he cleans up Tamamori’s back with his tongue and then kisses him to share the taste.

“Kouhai are so cute,” Koki says from where he’s flopped on his side, piercing shining in the dim light of the room.

“They are,” Taguchi agrees, placing the remote on the nearest end table. He sits down in his armchair once again, and snaps his fingers. Koki groans as he sits up and crawls the short distance to nuzzle against his thighs. “Very good, Koki.”

Koki looks down for a second, a pleased grin on his face before looking back up at Taguchi. Then his gaze drops and lingers against the obvious bulge in Taguchi’s trousers. “Anything I could do for you, Junno?”

That would be nice, but Taguchi can wait. He shakes his head, petting Koki when he pouts a little, and returns his attention to the way Miyata and Tamamori are wrapped around each other. They look to be nearly asleep, and Koki seems just as done in as Taguchi combs his fingers through his hair. He’s too comfortable to try and get up to urge them to make use of the bed shoved in the corner; they know it’s there, anyway.

*

“Okay, you have to be firm, but not _too_ firm,” Yokoo says to Senga as he buckles a cuff in place. “Your turn.”

Taguchi watches quietly as they work. It’s a treat, really. Usually Ueda is the one doing all the tying, not the one being bound. Senga looks a little nervous as he pulls one of Ueda’s wrists toward the corner of the bed he’s standing at, but Ueda only encourages him.

“You’ve got it. But really, don’t let your nerves show. It shows your weakness.” Ueda’s got his eyes closed, and he makes contented noises at the way the silk sheets slide against his skin as Yokoo and Senga finish positioning him.

Once they finish with the thick black cuffs, the two of them step aside for Taguchi to look them over. The cuffs are snug but not tight, and Ueda smirks up at Taguchi when he catches him eyeing the expanse of his pale skin and hard muscles.

With just a nod of approval, Taguchi steps back and leaves them to it. Yokoo sits on the edge of the bed, far enough away but not too far, gently giving Senga instructions. A large trunk is open to the side, filled with costume rejects from both work and Madame Kazumi’s personal collection, and Senga selects a feather boa. It’s blue—both of their member colors—and Taguchi smiles at the scene.

If there’s one thing Ueda really hates, it’s to be teased. And by hate, he means he loves to hate it. Yokoo is rather fond of making others break and beg, holding full control until he decides to release it. He also enjoys telling people what to do, which makes him the perfect teacher for Senga.

And Senga, well. Senga likes to please.

“Does this feel nice?” Senga asks in this filthy low voice, one he shouldn’t know how to use. Ueda’s eyes darken, but Senga’s smile just grows brighter as he drifts the feathers up and down Ueda’s chest, making him shudder. “Shiver for me, senpai.”

Yokoo folds his arms proudly as Ueda starts to growl, getting more aggravated by the second. “Just like that, Ken-chan, you’re doing well.”

“Touch me already,” Ueda grumbles, wrists jerking in the cuffs. “My pants are still on, for fuck’s sake.”

“In due time, senpai,” Senga says softly. “Yokoo-san, may I try something on my own?”

“Absolutely,” Yokoo replies, tossing a smug look toward Taguchi that clearly says _that’s my kouhai_.

Senga plucks a feather from the boa and hunches over Ueda’s bare chest, flicking it along the sharp crevices of his abdomen. Ueda arches, letting out a string of curses, and Senga has to sit on his legs to keep him from kicking.

“Senpai, I want to tell you a secret,” Senga says quietly, then loops the feather across Ueda’s chest like he’s writing something.

“What?” Ueda growls, struggling under Senga.

“I’m not _speaking_ it. You have to figure it out from what I write.” Senga says it a bit airily, and Yokoo grins in approval. Taguchi thinks he can see the low light glint from his fangs. It’s almost unsettling.

Ueda lets out an annoyed breath that turns to a startled gasp when Senga begins dragging the feather along his skin. From Taguchi’s vantage, it looks like pointless doodles.

The aimless doodling does have a point, though. As Senga drags the feather from the hollow of Ueda’s throat down his stomach, Ueda stops his wild bucking. He’s trying to arch into the touch, eyes closed and brow furrowed.

Taguchi can tell that Ueda understands it when his next noise is a low groan that’s half frustration and half approval. “You think you can do that, kid?” he asks.

“Read it out loud,” Senga says, his voice calm and even, not too harsh and not too weak. Even Taguchi is impressed; the next smirk Yokoo casts him is warranted.

“‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard’,” Ueda relays, and both Yokoo and Taguchi gasp at that.

“Ken-chan…” Yokoo swallows. “Have you even done it that way before?”

“Nope.” Senga kneels between Ueda’s legs, spreading them a little wider in the process, his eyes positively feral as he looks down at the much older man laid out on the bed before him. “I’m the youngest, so I don’t get to top. Don’t you want to deflower me, senpai?”

“I’m amazed there’s anything left to deflower,” Ueda replies, squirming as Senga nonchalantly runs the feather up his sides. “If you think you can do it…”

“Is that a challenge, senpai?” Senga asks cutely, and Ueda lifts his eyebrows.

Yokoo chuckles now, and Taguchi thinks if his head gets any bigger, he’ll float right out of the room.

“Of course,” Ueda replies, eyes sharp. He pointedly rolls his hips, and Senga drops the feather in favor of trailing his fingers along the waistband of Ueda’s pants. He only does it for a few moments, and then Senga makes short work of them, getting up from his spot to pull both pants and underwear down and off. Ueda looks a sight, all spread out and cuffed, and pale against the dark sheets. Taguchi shifts and continues to watch.

Senga settles back down between Ueda’s spread legs, an intense look of concentration on his face as Yokoo passes him lubrication. He’s slow as he coats his fingers, and careful as he slides them between Ueda’s legs.

“What was that about ‘fucking me so hard’?” Ueda mutters.

“I’m savoring the experience,” Senga retorts.

Ueda flicks his eyes to Yokoo, as if to say _control your kouhai_ , but Yokoo just grins harder and leans back to flash his unnaturally elongated canine teeth at Taguchi.

“You sure you just wanna watch, senpai?” he asks, his timing impeccable as Senga pushes fingers into Ueda and makes him arch.

“Wataru-kun,” Taguchi says smoothly, expecting the other’s twitch at being addressed so casually. “I can think of better things for you to do with your mouth than run it.”

“Is that so.”

Yokoo walks behind Taguchi and rests his chin on Taguchi’s shoulder, one of the few in the agency who are tall enough to actually reach it. His hands start to wrap around Taguchi’s waist and Taguchi halts him by both wrists, placing them firmly on his hips.

“No?” Yokoo whispers, pressing his voice into Taguchi’s neck. “You always did like to make it last.”

“You remember,” Taguchi says, praising the younger man with a firm grind backwards. Yokoo’s gasp makes him shiver and now those hands are gripping onto his hips for a different reason. “Do you remember what else I like?”

“Mm, refresh my memory,” Yokoo tells him, but scrapes his teeth along the top of Taguchi’s spine as he speaks.

A sharp cry calls Taguchi’s attention to the scene he’s supposed to be supervising, focusing on Senga pushing into Ueda, but then those sharp canines are sinking down into his skin and he shudders from the force of his denial.

“You’re doing it now, Wataru-kun,” Taguchi knows he sounds firm, but he doesn’t feel like it. “Keep going.”

Yokoo’s hands have moved from gripping Taguchi’s hips to the collar of his shirt, unfastening buttons. His teeth never leave the back of Taguchi’s neck, lightly scraping along the newly exposed skin. It raises goosebumps, and Taguchi sighs a bit, clenching his hands in the hem of his shirt.

Yokoo keeps tormenting him, this time sinking his teeth down into Taguchi’s shoulder. It hurts, but it’s good, especially when Yokoo subtly grinds into him from behind. This might be the closest he’s gotten to throwing his restraint away, but Taguchi is much stronger than that, even with the way Yokoo’s breaths tickle his ear as he leans closer to whisper.

“Senpai… are you sure you don’t want to have a little more fun?”

“I’m sure,” Taguchi breathes, reaching behind him to grab Yokoo by both hips. “I don’t mind if you do, though.”

Yokoo groans a bit, not missing the implication at all as he rocks sharply against Taguchi’s backside and licks the indents he’d left in Taguchi’s skin. That has Taguchi shuddering a bit in Yokoo’s arms, but Yokoo adheres to the older man’s wishes and doesn’t go below the belt.

“You’re a stronger man than I, senpai,” Yokoo tells him, breath quickening as he rubs off against Taguchi.

A loud growl has Taguchi’s attention back on the pair before him, regretting his life choices even more when he sees Ueda thrashing on the bed, yelling obscenities as Senga fucks him into the mattress and teases his cock with a feather.

“Senpai, if you just asked nicely, I’d let you come,” Senga’s saying, and Taguchi just chuckles because nothing Ueda is spewing out is even close to the safe word.

“You fucking brat, where do you get off talking to me like that, I’ll show you how— _oh._ ”

Senga smirks as he rubs the head of Ueda’s cock with one hand while drifting the feather over the shaft. “You were saying?”

“You’ve taught him well,” Taguchi hisses over his shoulder, and he can feel Yokoo preening. “You should let him top more often.”

“Senga-kun,” Ueda gasps, “please.”

“That’s better,” Senga says, biting his lip as he gives an extra hard thrust. “Beg your kouhai to let you come.”

“Please,” Ueda gasps, and Taguchi is shocked to watch him fall apart like that. “I need to finish, Senga-kun.”

Senga makes as much of a pleased noise as possible between thrusts. He’s actually shoving Ueda with the force of his fucking, and Taguchi is impressed. Senga drops the feather and wraps his fingers around Ueda’s cock, finally allowing him to have the friction he needs.

Behind Taguchi, Yokoo seems to be finding the same sort of friction. He’s only got one arm wrapped around Taguchi; the other is between Taguchi’s back and Yokoo’s front. It feels like Yokoo is jerking himself as roughly as possible; he’s still got his mouth on the back of Taguchi’s neck, teeth ever-present as they scrape his skin.

Another loud gasp catches Taguchi’s attention, and he focuses on the sight in front of him in time to watch Ueda stiffen in Senga’s grasp. Senga stills shortly after, groaning in contentment. He smirks down at Ueda, clearly proud of himself.

Then Yokoo bites down _hard_ on Taguchi’s shoulder and Taguchi’s eyes roll back into his head, feeling the younger man shudder behind him. His whole body is on fire, sensitive to even the slightest touch, and he uses the last of his willpower to calm it, busying himself by untying Ueda.

“You’re something else, kid,” Ueda says to Senga, who beams up at Yokoo like a child waiting to be praised for good behavior.

“Not bad for your first time,” Yokoo tells him, a little breathless, and Senga just frowns and mutters that he’ll do better next time.

Taguchi just shakes his head and feels grateful that he’s not in a group with Yokoo. That guy is such a hardass.

*

“How are you feeling, Fujigaya-kun?” Taguchi asks carefully, looking from one of Fujigaya’s eyes to the other.

Fujigaya blinks sleepily at him, then offers a half smile. “Good.”

“Yeah?” Taguchi prompts, pushing a lock of hair behind Fujigaya’s ear. “Do you feel any anxiety at all?”

Shaking his head is almost enough to knock Fujigaya right over, which confirms Taguchi’s question. “I don’t feel _anything_ ,” Fujigaya slurs.

“Good,” Taguchi says, then steps away, taking his seat at the back of the classroom. He nods at the small man in the doorway, who’s wearing a uniform that matches Fujigaya’s, and leans back as one approaches the other.

“Hey, Taisuke,” Kitayama says gently, and Fujigaya rolls his head towards the other with a grin.

“Hey, Mitsu!” he says happily, and Kitayama is obviously trying to hide his surprise. Taguchi is impressed as well; Koki must have gotten them some good pills.

Kitayama takes the seat next to Fujigaya, and he still looks a bit surprised from Taguchi’s vantage. It’s not long before Fujigaya is scooting his seat closer, though it takes a few minutes for Kitayama to relax. Once he lets his surprised guard down, Fujigaya scoots to be shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

They’re sitting there, Fujigaya seemingly whispering secrets to Kitayama, when sensei walks in. Her heels click with purpose, pausing as she rests a hand on Taguchi’s shoulder for a moment. The other two are in their own world when Kazumi-sensei clears her throat, startling them both.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class, boys?” Her voice is nearly a purr, and Taguchi definitely appreciates it, along with the pinstriped pencil skirt that clings to Kazumi-sensei in all the right ways. She’s got on a simple white blouse, and Taguchi wonders if she’d let him help with her grading. Under the desk, of course.

“No, nothing,” Kitayama murmurs, while Fujigaya just looks bewildered. “Good morning, sensei.”

“Good morning, class,” Kazumi-sensei begins, locking eyes with Taguchi in the back for a brief second before returning her attention to the two students. “Fujigaya-kun, you look ill. Are you feeling all right?”

Fujigaya tries to nod, but he misjudges gravity and Kitayama barely catches him before he slumps right out of his desk. “He’s burning up,” Kitayama plays along, tracing the line of Fujigaya’s temple with his fingers.

A soft moan sounds from Fujigaya at the touch, and he blinks open his eyes to look at Kitayama. “Mitsu, feels nice.”

“Yeah?” Kitayama asks, smirking a little at the way Fujigaya falls apart under his hands, something that would never happen if not for the enhancements he’d asked for.

“If he’s warm, you should take off his clothes,” Kazumi-sensei says sternly. “He can’t learn if he has a fever.”

Kitayama is quick to follow instructions, both hands making short work of the buttons holding Fujigaya’s jacket closed. Fujigaya groans a little as it’s pulled from his shoulders, but it’s less in protest and more of an approval. He doesn’t help though; it’s to be expected, if the way he’s all loose and relaxed is any indication.

Fujigaya allows Kitayama to loosen his tie and unfasten the buttons of his shirt. He’s a little more active as he tries to shrug the shirt off, though he almost shrugs himself out of his seat. Fujigaya barely rights himself in time, but he keeps mostly upright. His shirt and jacket are in the floor behind him, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck.

Kitayama drags a hand down his back, and his voice sounds almost convincingly concerned when he speaks next. “Sensei, Fujigaya-kun is still warm. What should I do?”

“I think a little mouth-to-mouth resuscitation is in order,” Kazumi-sensei says, perching on the edge of her desk and conspicuously adjusting herself. “His breath may be restricted by his belt as well.”

Kitayama’s on Fujigaya instantly, pressing their mouths together and kissing him hard, and it takes Fujigaya a few seconds to catch up and throw his arms around Kitayama’s neck in response. Kitayama’s hands drop to Fujigaya’s belt and whip it open, pulling a delicious moan from Fujigaya when his knuckles brush the rapidly growing bulge in his pants.

“You need more space,” Kazumi-sensei says, stepping to the side. “Here, use my desk.”

It’s a credit to either Fujigaya’s lack of weight or Kitayama’s strength that Kitayama picks him up easily, maneuvering them to the front of the classroom without breaking their kiss, at least until he lays Fujigaya down onto the teacher’s desk and sprawls him out.

Taguchi keeps a close eye on them, for security purposes of course, though he’s more affected by Kazumi-sensei’s commanding voice than the two students who are now grinding on her desk.

Kazumi-sensei keeps a watchful eye on the two; once she’s satisfied with their progress, she smirks back at Taguchi. A sharp gasp returns their attention to Kitayama and Fujigaya, though, and they watch as Kitayama slips one hand down Fujigaya’s pants.

Kitayama sneaks a glance at Taguchi and grins as he frees Fujigaya from the confines of his clothes. “Sensei,” he says, “I think Fujigaya-kun is a little too tense. What should I do?”

Kazumi-sensei steps behind her desk and pulls open a drawer. She pulls out a crumpled tube, and passes it to Kitayama. “I think you already know what to do; you made excellent grades in your sex ed class.”

Kitayama takes the proffered tube, separating himself from Fujigaya only long enough to slick his fingers and return his hand to its previous place between his legs. Fujigaya is still a sprawling mess, writhing atop the desk.

“It’s okay, Taisuke,” Kitayama says, voice gentle as he crawls atop the desk and subsequently Fujigaya, wrestling his belt loose with his free hand. “I got you. Let leader take care of you.”

Fujigaya just nods, gasping at the first touch between his legs but then arching his back, spreading his thighs invitingly with a belated moan. The sounds are muffled while Kitayama presses their mouths together, but that only lasts until Fujigaya tosses his head back and Kitayama mouths at his throat instead.

Heels click against the floor as Kazumi-sensei strides over to Taguchi. “What did you _give_ him?” she whispers, sounding impressed. “It’s like he has to get fucked or he’ll die.”

“Don’t question my choices, woman,” Taguchi replies, failing to keep a straight face, and Kazumi-sensei swats at him playfully.

She lays her head on his shoulder as Kitayama pushes into Fujigaya, the latter making a strangled noise of relief as he’s finally penetrated, legs wrapping around Kitayama’s waist as his hips push up like it’s beyond his control. It isn’t long before Taguchi slides a hand up Kazumi-sensei’s skirt as they watch Kitayama and Fujigaya. Both of them are so involved in each other that they barely notice their audience. “Would you like to try some too, Kazumi?” Taguchi asks.

“No. I’d rather just watch its effects. And stop trying to undress me here,” she adds. “You should be more patient.”

Taguchi does as he’s told, slipping his fingers out of Kazumi’s satin panties. For such a voyeur, she’s quite conservative. That’s okay with Taguchi, though, because it won’t be long before he can indulge in the activities he’s been watching over the past few days.

A sharp cry grabs his attention again, and Taguchi is concerned until he realizes that Fujigaya’s gotten a hand around himself. He’s writhing and moaning wantonly while Kitayama thrusts into him ruthlessly. Both of them are covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and Kitayama spares a glance to Taguchi to wink at him. Maybe later he’ll get a proper thanks.

For now he wraps his arms around Kazumi-sensei, nosing the back of her neck where her wig meets her real hair, and they both watch Fujigaya arch on the teacher’s desk, his lips parting for a shrill moan as he spills over his fingers, translucent drops splattering all over his bare chest.

Kitayama’s right behind him, pulling out just in time to mix Fujigaya’s come with his own, then he leans over Fujigaya’s shuddering body to push his hair out of his face and look down at him.

“He okay?” Taguchi checks.

“Yeah,” Kitayama replies breathlessly, smiling when Fujigaya curls toward his hand, seeking more affection.

“I’ll leave him to you then,” Kazumi-sensei says, hooking an arm around Taguchi’s waist to guide him out of the room. “Class dismissed.”

*

“I missed these weekends so much,” Taguchi says, covering the body beneath his with his own completely before leaning down to press his lips to warm ones.

It’s Kame, not Kazumi, who wraps arms around him and kisses back. “Isn’t it weird that we like watching them get all kinky, but we don’t do any of it?”

“Nah,” Taguchi replies, hands roaming all over Kame’s chest that is free of lingerie and fake breasts. “It’s kinky in its own way, isn’t it? I’m not like this with anyone else.”

“Hush about the others when you’re with me,” Kame says, reaching down to palm the front of Taguchi’s pants to earn his undivided attention.

Taguchi groans and nods, slipping one hand to join Kame’s to help unfasten his pants. Their fingers tangle together clumsily for a moment, but they coordinate well enough to free him. Once he’s out of them, Taguchi reaches for the bedside table for the lube. Kame takes it from him and slicks Taguchi’s fingers. “Let’s take our time,” he says, and Taguchi leans to kiss him in agreement.

That’s all the speaking they do as Taguchi slips his fingers between Kame’s legs. They part easily, and Kame makes a soft noise as Taguchi circles his rim before pressing further in. As much as Taguchi wants to speed things up, he doesn’t; he’s waited this long already, so he can wait a bit more.

If anything, it makes Taguchi feel even _more_ each time Kame squeezes him through his pants, red-hot fire coursing through his veins and skin tingling all over. Even in his fingers, where he’s gently stretching Kame much more than necessary.

Kame moans softly as Taguchi touches him where it feels good, purposely doing it lightly to drive Kame crazy. He may want to take their time, but his body has a different idea and soon he’s pushing back against Taguchi’s fingers, the two soon joined by a third, and Kame’s uncontrollable noises taste delicious on his lips.

“I want you,” Taguchi breathes, and that’s all he needs to say.

He surges forward, burying himself inside Kame. Taguchi stills as soon as he’s settled; it’s all he does for a few long moments until Kame bucks his hips. That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Kame digs his fingernails into Taguchi’s back; it’s just the right amount of pain and Taguchi thrusts harder. He changes his angle the slightest amount and is rewarded with a loud cry. He keeps aiming for that spot, still slow and methodical.

The events of this past weekend rush forward to the front of Taguchi’s mind, as he’s sure it does to Kame’s. Nikaido singeing on the floor, Tamamori seized by metal tentacles and having absolutely no mind about it, Ueda completely restrained and writhing under Senga’s instruction, and Kitayama fucking the completely incoherent Fujigaya into the teacher’s desk. Not to mention Nakamaru’s militant authority and Koki’s new piercing.

All of which Kame—Kazumi—had witnessed along with him through the monitors. Taguchi moves in and out of him now, reliving each second, the heat between them overwhelming as he builds up to their inevitable release. It’s been so long, yet it feels like coming home after a long day, Kame’s body tightening around him in welcome as he pins Kame’s knees to his chest for ultimate depth.

Taguchi’s tall enough to reach Kame’s mouth even like this, kissing him deeply as he starts to thrust a little faster. Kame’s whimpers tickle his tongue and he snaps his hips harder, making the noises grow louder and more abrupt, feeling Kame shudder beneath him, so close. Taguchi is close, too, holding out as long as he can before reaching between them to take Kame’s cock in hand, which just makes everything even more tighter and intense until Kame grabs onto his biceps with both hands.

That’s what pushes Taguchi over the edge, clinging to Kame as his body jolts in orgasm and taking Kame with him. Kame comes over his fingers and Taguchi pulls back to lick them clean, struggling to focus through his pleasant haze at where Kame’s eyes are narrow and dilated, hair everywhere.

Taguchi’s still shaking when he returns to Kame’s mouth, his aftershocks even stronger after pushing himself to the limit so many times. Kame drinks down all of his noises, slowly stretching out his legs and curling his body into Taguchi’s as they kiss lazily and come back down to earth together.

“I should go make final rounds,” Taguchi tells him, yet makes no effort to untangle himself from Kame’s limbs just yet. “Then maybe we can all get together for one last scene.”

“All twelve of us?” Kame asks, thin eyebrow arching in mild interest.

Taguchi shrugs. “It could work.”

“Let’s save it for next time,” Kame suggests.

He gets his way, as usual, and Taguchi reluctantly pulls away to make his rounds. Nikaido’s burn is still there but healing, both Tamamori and Fujigaya have been released from their spells and are shoving at their respective partners like usual, and the bruises on Ueda’s wrists can be easily covered by bracelets and wristbands until they fade. As for Taguchi himself, his bite mark is barely noticeable, though it stings in that good way whenever he catches sight of Yokoo, who was left unscathed along with remaining members of both groups.

All in all, Taguchi concludes, it was a very enjoyable weekend.


End file.
